


Frozen Heart

by AngelHoneyDoll



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Christmas, Cute, Dream Smp, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Good Friend Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minecraft, My First Fanfic, New Years, Oneshot, Oneshot maybe, Plot, Power Outage, Snow, Snow Storm, Storm - Freeform, Tags Are Hard, Third Wheel Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Twitch - Freeform, Winter, cats are cute, dreamnotfound, livestream, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelHoneyDoll/pseuds/AngelHoneyDoll
Summary: The call froze in silence.The realisation hit Dream like a bag of bricks. Did he really just say that, in front of his closest friends? Was he insane?His heart drove into his throat, a lump of anxiety sitting there casually, as his stomach twisted and fell. His mind was in a frenzy, the silence driving him mad; his hands shook with suspense.The storm outside roared, its icy grasp clutching snowflakes and clumps of fallen snow as it danced its way through the desolate streets. He rolled back his head, leaning it carefully on the top of his rest, and slid the headphones down to his tanned neck.The speakers picked up the noise, echoing it through the call, his very friend's breaths obscured by the glacious commotion; the only noise heard from Dream's end.If this carries on,he thought to himself in the confines of his room,the power might go out. How scary, absolutely frightening that would be.His eyes glossed over as his attention soon averted to the bleached ceiling. Goosebumps littered his skin, icy winter breath sneaking its way in. His hair stood on end.How long had he been staring for?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Frozen Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first DreamNotFound fanfic so I dearly apologise if there are any mistakes that I have made or anything. If there is, please just say in the comments so I can make sure the story is perfect as it can be. If you also have any suggestions, please just say in the comments and I could write them into a story for you!
> 
> This may just be a one-shot sort of thing since I'm not really sure if I'll be able to write a proper story for this. However, if I get motivated enough, I may continue this but it truly depends on what happens this year.
> 
> If any of the original Content Creators express how uncomfortable any fanfic or the ship itself makes them feel, I will be respectfully deleting any and all fanfics that I have made about them. Please respect this wish and the CCs. And please do not upload this on any other platform other than ao3 and please do not mention this fic to the CCs. Thank you!
> 
> I will also be using the name 'Dream' for his character instead of his actual name since this isn't about the person but his character. The same thing goes for the other characters starring in this story. I am writing about the characters, not the people. 
> 
> Quick trigger warnings for this story:
> 
> \- Mentions of blood and organs  
> \- Mentions of death and corpses  
> \- Mentions of Mental Health stuff (Anxiety, Depression-themed thoughts, etc)  
> \- Mentions of suicidal themes
> 
> [There aren't any character deaths in this story, don't worry. I don't think I could handle it myself if I did that, to be honest. All of these are just used as similes.]
> 
> Also, some comfort triggers, just in case:
> 
> \- Swearing   
> \- DnF (what did you expect? This is a dnf fanfic!)
> 
> Have a lovely day and I hope you enjoy it! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm on the edge of horizon ushes for a decaying heart to break.

The sunny days' he saw from the comfort of his window were long gone. Autumn had shown its face and disappeared like the snap of someone's fingers. Halloween had ended and the rage of all Christmas related trinkets and media had begun earlier than ever. Everywhere you went, something containing a Christmas-y theme had popped out of nowhere. No matter what! Big companies grasped their greasy fingers around anything that could benefit them with profit so, when the time came, they made sure that they decorated every inch of their malls and great buildings with fairy lights and fake snow. The propaganda of a cheery Christmas had started. 

Dream huffed in boredom, readjusting his coat collar as he walked down the snow-coated concrete, covering his combat boots. A plastic bag filled with essential food and cat treats swayed by his side, rustling in the frostbitten breeze. Dream's flushed cheeks, speckled with little freckles across his bronze flesh, snuggled closely to the fur encased insides of his navy jacket, the band tucked neatly across the bottom half of his face. His warm breath heated his numb skin, calming his pounding heart from walking so far from his loving home.

The trees swayed their bare branches, frost threatening to overtake their wooden skin, as cars drove by; little kids of all ages, even bored adults, stared out their misty glass and watched the decorated houses lined up against one another in celebration of the time-consuming holiday. They watched from the safety of the metal boxes they sat in, all warm and toasty from the heaters. He watched in envy, outside of the metal boxes, where the cold was his predator and he was its prey. 

Snow mounted in the shape of a ball flung itself at the innocent bystander, followed by a grunt and an uproar of giggles. He dusted off the sleet with his free hand, a frown and furrowed brow waved down his face, before turning his attention to the thrower of the snowball. In the front garden of a house, with ripples of chalky cotton stapled to the roof of the house and a rope of lights for a fake figure of Saint Nick to climb up on, stood a group of young boys behind a hill they made from the snowpack. 

The males were of the ages of eight to ten, head to toe covered in winter clothing proper for the minus degree weather. They laughed and laughed until their stomachs ached in agony, curling up on the glacier flooring until they regathered their breathing. Dream scoffed, remembering a time when he was that young and idiotic, and, with a quick tug on his coat and rummage through his pocket, he walked on. 

. 

He was nearing closer and closer to his sweet home, the anticipation rising in his throat, the fluffy feeling of his cat's adorable fur just at his fingertips. His steps became heavier as he spotted it in the distance; the cream-tinted brick walls, the little garden at the back, the roof covered in a thick layer of snowfall. He felt relieved, the anxiety building in his tight chest. He wanted to crawl out of the layers and fall into bed with Patches by his side. He wanted to hear their little purring, he wanted to talk to his friends via Discord and stream Minecraft in the comfort of his room, he wanted to hear the sweet voice of George. 

**_Bing!_ **

He stopped in his tracks. It was his phone, hidden in the pocket of his overlayer. He leaned his weight on his foot, adjusting the tiny bag swaying from his wrist, and checked the box for the notification. Hardly pressing his numb fingers on the power button, the screen lit up with a screenshot from one of Dream's videos. It was the three boys - Sapnap, Dream and George - with their little avatars staring at the direction he was facing, mindlessly gazing at Dream's eyes which watched the two. In front of his avatar was a little wooden sign, the words encased on it reading, 'poggers.' It made Dream laugh when he saw it that day. It still does.

He tapped on the colourless icons and read the little message that stood with it. It was a message from George checking up on him since he hadn't heard from his friend in a while and assumed he had no other social life. _How coincidental,_ he thought. He tucked his phone back, figuring it would be best to message back when he had gotten back into the warmth. 

The sky was shielded by clouds, falling little flakes of jolly goodness onto the green and blue world. The actual sky itself was a navy blue, matching his long and furry coat, signalling that the day was coming to an end soon for the rest of the world but just the beginning for him. It made him grin, knowing that he had all the time in the world. All the time to play with his friends, to laugh at their ridiculous jokes, to hear _his_ voice-

**_Bing! Bing!_ **

His thoughts were cut short, like a knife, at the stomach-gurgling noise. It had to be George again, or maybe Sapnap, maybe even Fundy. But who cared? He was nearly home anyway, they could wait. If it were an emergency, they'd probably call him. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding, arched his back enough for it to safely crack, and carried on his walk.

The house was getting closer. His comfortable bed was awaiting him. He couldn't wait any longer, so his footsteps carried him at a greater pace. It advanced, and advanced, and advanced. He was getting closer and closer, the ambition stuck in his throat. He wanted to be rid of the cold and enveloped in the heat, the embrace of the fluff that wasn't coated in his disgusting breath. He wanted to sit in his chair, open his pc, and chat with his friends. He needed a conversation where it wasn't just typed out words on a screen or the silent judges from his cat.

His front door was now just in arm's reach. He could almost feel the spin-chilling sensation of the metal. He could almost feel the climax of his entire trip. No more worries about when he had to shop, what he needed, how much it would cost, yada, yada. No more boring adult stuff, now he could be his inner child once more. He just needed to exit the real world and enter the world he loved. The world he and his friends created. The world where no amount of distance could separate him.

**_Bing! Bing! Bing!_ **

His patience was wearing thin now. He dropped the bag on the doorstep with a big _thud_ and reached into his pocket one last time. The screen lit up once again, Dream's scowl glowing. However, before he could read the idiotic messages, the Discord app popped up, along with the icons of George and Sapnap's profile pictures. He sighed, leaning down to grab the carrier, clutching it firmly, and finally entered.

. 

"George!" Sapnap yelled into the mic, making Dream's ears cringe when he lifted the phone to his ear. The glass, even though it was in the insides of his pocket and his hand for most of the journey, pricked his ears with a shiver. He quickly pulled back his phone, rubbed tirelessly on his ear before returning it on again.

In response to the shriek, a laugh escaped George's lips and struck Dream's heart with an arrow. Cupid had struck his heart and left it to bleed out as the hole in his heart grew more and more, a sense of longing and loneliness in the pit of Dream's stomach. He had always felt like that, always seeing his friends through a screen and not eye-to-eye (not like they could meet eye-to-eye since he was a giant,) but the feeling had grown more ravenous as he realized something very important about him he never even thought he could.

"Dream!" The words pulled him out of his trance, "Please tell George to stop stealing my iron!"

Another laugh erupted in his ears, another arrow. "I'm not 'stealing', Sapnap," He rolled his tongue and extended the vowels for a more dramatic effect as he continued his argument, "I'm just borrowing so I can mine you some more!"

The shouting of 'Give it back,' 'Dream, help,' 'Nooo,' and other eye-twitching comments were thrown about as Dream, without slithering out of the musty coat, sat on his chair and booted up his pc.

The dim loading screen enlightened Dream's face, the dark circles under his eyes from all the nights' speedrunning and completing challenges making his eyes sink into his skull, like a corpse. He felt like one as well, especially with the childish banter going on in the background. He couldn't hear himself think any longer. Covering his face with his hands, without a slither of doubt, he pressed the red button.

_Silence._

A quiet, peaceful bliss washed over his body like the waves of the ocean. He circled his temples with two fingers, taking a deep breath in and out. The silent hiss and creaks of the house were strangely relaxing to him as if he was in a haunted house. But nicer, in a way. He felt a sense of achievement in his empty chest. Even though the call hadn't lasted long, a headache grasped at the back of his mind, soon clawing to his heavy eyes.

He finally got back up onto his legs, his coat rustling under him as he unzipped the metal claws and rid himself of the snakeskin-like exterior. His midnight leather chair rolled away from the sudden movement, washing away like a raft lost at sea, before bumping into the hem of his wood frame bed, a clicking noise erupting from the crash. He took no notice of it and trudged along through the doorway, Patches joining his journey. She rubbed her fluffy body against the skin of Dream's jeans, stray hairs catching in the fabric. He chuckled to himself, staring down at the small animal.

He paused at the small metal hooks hung up behind his main door that leads to the outside world, staring at the collection of winter hoodies and coats. _A frenzy of monotone colors,_ he thought. It was a mess. A mess he couldn't be bothered to sort out at the moment and probably not for a while. He sighed, making a mental note of it as well as the spam of noises coming from the other room (probably Sapnap and George again,) and hung the shivering material by the little hoop attached on the inside, hidden amongst the fake fur. He tugged on it, checking if it was stable enough. It didn't fall.

Crouching down, he seized the luggage of essentials and slowly brought himself back up, a loud beating in his ears that sang like a siren's song. He spun on the heels of his feet, his boots squeaking under him as he headed towards the kitchen, Patches hopping close behind. The air was cold, just enough to turn into droplets of ice, if it ever so wished, and rain hell on the two victims. It felt weird, finally in the silence of his home. He never realised how dull, tranquil even, it could be without the cries of George to interrupt him. _George._ For a still moment, he almost felt like a hole had been shot through his delicate rib cage, a black hole absorbing all emotions and replacing it with something that didn't feel right to Dream. It hurt. Not in a painful manner, but in a way that felt alone, alienated from the rest of the world. He didn't hate it as much, just didn't feel like being cooped up in it.

The marble countertop was freezing under his delicate touch, browsing the clean and slick feel. Memories swept into his head all at once, the sweet feeling of Christmas overwhelming his senses. The laughter of children, the excitement burning in his throat, snowflakes landing delicately on his tongue and melting away. He smiled happily to himself, remembering the happiness that Christmas gave him as a sweet, adolescent child. Reality as he knew it was nothing more than a fantasy back then.

His eyes whipped around the room, his memories soon fading to dark as his pain grew, dropping the ductile sack onto the counter. He needed something to calm his torment. A slayer for his resurgent beast. With his slim fingers, he grabbed the silvery stick attached to the wintery door and pulled it, revealing its secrets. Although, they were not much of a secret. Just clean dishes stacked up onto each other, an assortment of medical supplies and an array of medication; paracetamol, ibuprofen, cold and flu medicine, the lot. They were neatly on top of one another, their titles facing Dream's face.

Skimming the labels carefully, he clutched the lightish lime box and mindlessly opened it like he had done hundreds of times before. Grabbing a nearly empty pack, he popped two pills out of the protective paper and glugged them down, the dry and stale taste aflame in his throat. The blazing sensation caught in his lungs, rising to his throat and finally relating out and into a dry cough. He felt the air from his organs flee and the release of death creep upon him before vanishing into the night. _Should've had some water,_ he thought solely to himself.

Closing the cupboard with a small clash, Dream started unpacking the nutriments into their respectful assortments, zipping all around the kitchen as time passed peacefully. Patches, seated gracefully on the side, watched the tall boy, observing the strange ways of her owner's uncertainty. She then bounced off the tabletop, landing on her four legs upright, and ran to the window. She peered out, the clouds out turning a dark grey and the snowfall picking up more steadily.

A storm was upon the horizon.

. 

The pain had settled, the eery claws of agony retreating from the back of his mind. He was browsing the messages left by his worrying friends, passing the time abruptly. He was comfortably sitting on his bed, the window beside him cracked open by the smallest amount. Patches, laying on his violet-dyed duvet, purred silently into the night. The storm outside had grown more bloody. Though Dream barely even noticed, too absorbed in the consequences of his previous actions.

One hundred and two unread messages, ten missed calls - both on his actual phone number and Discord - and several tweets asking if he was alright. _Shit._ He didn't realise the severity of his actions, how worried his friends were when he ended his call. He had to make it up to them somehow. Especially George. He was the most worried, sending Dream meaningful messages to make sure he hadn't upset him somehow. He didn't blame them, of course. They hadn't heard from him in days and the one time he had joined, he left immediately after without saying a word. He felt regret seep into his chest.

**_Bing!_**

He jumped from the unexpected noise erupting from his phone. He was suddenly zapped back into reality, plunging into his surroundings, as if he had just shifted from being in another dimension for too long. His eyes were sore, his lips dry and chapped, his skin littered in goosebumps. He felt disgusting, like a pigsty. He hated how malnourished he felt, how his eye bags felt like weights and his shoulders weighed down by mountains. He breathed out a tiresome puff before viewing the message.

_'I know you're online, please answer me'_ , it read. The contact name was titled 'King Gogy' with a distorted picture of George and two emojis of a crown and blue heart. _My king,_ he thought to himself, chuckling silently.

He felt a strange anxiety relish over him, one he never realized developing in his throat, as his freckly fingers loomed over the words. He glared at them and they glared back, seemingly mocking him. He had no idea, no clue, no rhyme nor reason why he was panicking so much about one little message. Maybe it was because George was his best friend. Maybe because of the impending doom of his actions, the hole in his chest, the arrow in his heart. Maybe because of the storm outside that replicated the one in his brain.

He mentally pushed the worries aside, like an unwanted child, and began his message. He couldn't truly think, the pressure he put himself on growing more and more louder. He had typed out a word and, after much thinking, deleted it and began the message once again. It became a vicious cycle of repetition. He was tired of it, tired of overthinking such a simple task. He typed out a few words and finally sent it without proofreading it at all. He had made such a huge mistake.

_'Hey, Gogy. Sorry, feeling bad today. Not your fault, love you',_ his message was half-assed and his sleep-deprived brain was slowly registering the words. The realization soon kicked in, however, and a burst of adrenaline pumped in his veins. He shot up, scaring Patches, and a shock of terror coursed his face.

_Love you._

He so desperately wished the world would crumble from under him and swallow him whole. He wished and wished that he had actually taken the time to read it again and maybe deleted the 'love you' part before bloody sending it! His heart was thumping as fast as a hummingbird. How could he be so stupid?! Now things between him and George, his closest friend, would be so awkward that they'd have to be rid of all contact, never speak to one another again and forget either of them ever existed. Horrible and cruel words circled and echoed his mind like it was about to implode. He stared at the screen, a little icon notifying that George had read the message.

_Shit._

**_Bing!_**

The Earth shattering noise coiled through his bones. He hated him now, no doubt about it. Dream began circulating a plan - move out of LA, get a fake identity (or steal one,) and maybe a fake moustache as well, join a Fight Club, fake his death and never be seen by his friends or family ever again. _It could work,_ he convinced himself, too afraid to read the message. He instead turned the power button off, flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

The storms outside screamed in agony, whipping the soldiers lined up, disguised as palm trees with a delicate layer of colourless ice. They arch their backs by the sheer force of the transparent force, the clouds blowing their hideous breath. The fragile victims outside, innocent strangers, were thrown about all over, grasping onto their luggage like it was a child or filled with sweet little kittens. Though they weren't given mercy, obviously.

Patches watched the cries of the weather, fearing when she next had to go outside in the eye of the storm. Dream, however, did not care so much. To distract his treacherous situation, he was thinking of his favourite things. It helped him whenever he felt in distress. He would create a list in his head of the things that either made him happy or pleased in life. He began: _Patches, my ambitions and dreams, social life was good, fans are amazing, career is fantastic, doing what I love, my families in good health, my friends, George-_

He comically shook his head, hoping the thoughts would spill out. He sighed and started over: _House isn't a mess so that's good, actually went shopping, I like the path I'm on, love doing the speedruns with my friends, the SMP script is going well, George is-_

He gave up. George was on his mind again. Cuffing the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, he groaned in despair before abruptly returning them in their comfortable positions.

He dismissed the idea of redoing the same thing over, knowing the outcome of his actions. He just wanted to relax for a bit, even for a moment, to prepare for the downfall. He hated how long he was taking. Hated the fact the ambition rose in his throat as if he had entered a dating show and waited for the final results. He despised all of it. His stomach tied into little knots, the feeling of butterflies gathering up. These were not the good butterflies, these were the deadly butterflies. The kiss of death.

_Melancholy._

The word rang in his head like a bell. It was such an underrated word, in his opinion. It sounded like a type of lemon and its meaning was as sour as one. That's how he felt. He felt sour, lemony, melancholy. The deep emptiness in his torso felt like the word - the depressing word of the day. How odd for a word to be so perfect yet so upsetting. Like a joyful tune but when you listen to the lyrics properly, it slowly turns as if it's out of date milk. All chunky and bitter.

No matter how hard he tried, his brain couldn't get the thought of what George may have texted back out of his idiotic mind. Curiosity did kill the cat, or however, the idiotic saying went. He sighed, prepared for the worst, and sat back up once again. His back ached and muscles felt like stone. The creeping feeling of his headache soon trudged along back. Today was not one of the best days for him ever. He clutched the devious device and turned it back on. Hundreds of Twitter and Instagram comments flooded his phone. He was in deep shit now but he had to explain later. Right now he had to consider whether following along with his plan or not.

Unlocking his phone, the messages app was already open for him, awaiting his infernal doom. He breathed a final breath, tapped on George's profile and read the words carefully.

_'Ha! It was all those Doritos you were eating the other day, wasn't it! Well, get better soon and join my Livestream tomorrow, idiot!'_

_. . . What?!_

. 

The screams of joy as the team allowed George to get the final hit of the looming Ender Dragon was as loud as their excitement. The chat was filled with words such as: 'pog', 'poggers', 'let's go', and other positive messages as well as emotes, filling the tiny corner of George's screen with an aura of happiness. The boys - George, Dream, Sapnap, and BadBoyHalo - laughed and laughed until their poor stomachs ached in agony. Though, they really couldn't care less. Their friends were happy, they were happy, all was good. Their sweet goodbyes to the watchers warmed their hearts before ending the Stream and taking a short break.

Dream swung back on his chair, his head butting on the stump gently. A sweet breath escaped his chapped lips, relief spreading like fire on his body. Droplets of sweat, even in the winter weather, leaked down his forehead and to his jawline. Who knew a quick speedrun could work up a sweat!

His stained shirt rustled in the frosty wind. Dream never actually closed the window before he passed out from shock last night, and didn't get to that morning before being rushed into the call and then the game. He wished he woke up even a few minutes beforehand. He still needed to change, maybe take a shower, anything productive. However, he knew he didn't mind much if it helped his friend. One way or another, he was technically doing _something_ productive - even though it was just beating Minecraft for the hundredth time as millions of people watched.

The memories of last night flashed into his mind, the embarrassment flinging him a flush on his face. The pure anxiety seeped in his chest, the hole growing deeper, decaying his lungs into a toxic matter of flesh. He rubbed the freezing palms of his hands across his face, stubble scratching at his fingertips. Disgust filled his head as a potent smell filled his nostrils. He _definitely_ needed a shower. And soon.

The clicking of his peers' keyboards overlapped their conversation. They were discussing what games to play - the best strategy on how to waste the endless free time they had before utter chaos. It was fun, just spending days on end doing whatever they wanted. They controlled their lives, not anyone else. They were the god of their world. Dream chuckled to himself. The thought of him comparing himself to a god would make a funny bit for a video. Even if it weren't funny, it would be a good skit for an animatic of some sort. A smile spread across his face. He did love his job.

The yelling of his friends calling his name to join the game caught his attention back. He rapidly clicked on the chatroom, a link to a game popping up in an ocean blue colour. The words of his friends' hung above the link as reminders of the best times he had with them. The number of times he had laughed and wheezed uncontrollably at their frustrations popped up in the back of his brain. However, in an attempt to make sure he didn't get yelled at more, he clicked his mouse on the jumble of words and letters.

He was soon transported to the game, cheering from his friends as his character popped in the waiting room. A vibrant yellow shaded his face. Fat little characters aligned the pedestals, all unique with little accessories and colours, species and other laughable bits and bobs. He knew exactly the game he was playing and a giggle erupted his lips.

"Oh, you all are in deep trouble now!" He laughed, a mischievous look spreading on his facade. His eyes shined with evil intentions, a plan arousing his humorous profile. He was going to win, he knew it.

" Says the person who spaced out for ages, muffin head!" Bad laughed. The others agreed in fake annoyance, Bad's little addition of his odd use of 'muffin head' made the whole sentence even better. His face cracked into a toothy grin, a sweet and comforting feeling glowing in his chest.

The little loading bar at the bottom of the screen, slowly swirling around itself like a snake, filled up to hundred and teleported the gang to their respected map. It was an aeroplane, grey shiny metal laying beneath their stubby feet. The wind rushed past them as if they were in the storm outside, swirling them around and around. He could tell Bad picked the map. The game began, little plastic weapons and various items dropped all around the aircraft they stood on. As soon as it began, their characters went limp like all bones in their weird chubby bodies disappeared.

Without a second thought, he haphazardly ran towards the nearest weapon - a pair of nunchucks. From his previous encounter with the game, he knew the best way to win was to grab the most efficient weapon and equip as quickly as humanly possible. No amount of forceful pushes from the other players could escape the wrath of the almighty weapons. Although, he did not take into account Sapnap's character running towards him at top speed. Just as he got to its location, Sapnap grabbed him and lifted him in the air. He wobbled from side to side before chucking him off of the plane. He fell. Unable to grab onto safety, he despawned from the map.

The cheers of his friends as he watched them play without him left him with a sense of unease. Why hadn't he won? Was he that bad? Why did he lose? He tugged on his chest, his slim fingers wrapping around the soft material. Defeat surrounded him. His chest felt heavy and his head was light. He was a sore loser, after all.

The silence that surrounded him seized his bones with a chilling touch he could only describe as fear. The once tranquil creaks in the floorboards froze him to the touch. The voices, judging his every thought, action and motive grew increasingly louder. He was shaking, tears pricking at his very eyeballs, mixing with the beads of sweat. He wanted to envelope himself in comfort until his trembling subsided. Until he felt he could pull on the mask again. For his facade to return. To be a fool.

Wrapping his arms around him, Dream clenched his jaw as the distant voices of his loved ones disappeared among the screams. He shut his eyes tight enough until they stung and waited.

That's all he did. Wait. Wait for the right moment. Wait for the moment to tell them. The right moment to text or call back. The right moment to upload. The right moment to be _himself._ He only waited. The moments he considered to be perfect - they were not moments. They were sequences of thoughts. Thoughts piled on thoughts until the most pristine, the most thought out idea floated into his grasp. Only thoughts.

He felt like a little kid again. Hugging himself so close to his chest. So close he could feel the body heat radiating off of him. The memories of all those arguments, all those times he had to hide under the table or his bed covers, the feeling pounced on him without a second thought. He was wrapped in the emotion so deeply, waves of sorrow and grief collapsing on his fragile glass body. Chips flung off his weak bones and into the oceans of overwhelming. He was fading away.

"Dream?"

George's saccharine voice curtained him in an embracing warmth. It was the blanket of comfort he desperately grasped for as he fell further inside his endless cliff. Another arrow. He felt the impact of the sharp end dive painfully into his decayed heart. However, instead of eroding it more, it healed it. Like a video showing the death of a flower only in reverse, the same effect sprung on the wound. The hole he felt was slowly repairing itself back. He suddenly didn't feel as heavy, his shoulders sore and skin itchy. The tension faded. The need to cry was withering away.

"Yeah, what's up?" He answered in the most cheerful tone he could encourage up. His voice cracks prevented that, although, and instead made him sound as if he was on the verge of a mental breakdown, which wasn't at all false.

The pause was heart-wrenching.

His hands began to sweat and tremble; a terrible predator was nearby and he was a poor little bunny about to enter the mouth of the beast. The blanket was torn from his icy corpse for him to rust away, just a useless bag of skin in the wintery mountains. His legs had turned to jelly, bitten by the frostbite, and planted themselves as if they were roots. They did not leave, nor did they want to. At any minute, he could give way and fall to his deadly demise. How preposterous.

The weight of the world seemed to sit so perfectly upon his shoulders which they had just left. Everything surreal that happened mere moments ago, where he thought all was forgiven, it didn't matter anymore. All those feelings, the shadows, the voices, the void in his chest. They all jumped out at him again, as if they were in the end scene of a horror movie. It felt like a horror movie to him. Any minute, a crazed-looking maniac would turn the corner with a bloody axe and he would disappear forever... Maybe that wasn't so bad anymore.

The guilt flew heavily in him. Alienating, ostracising. When you do that to everyone you care about only to appear and go again really does a number on such a frail body. His eyes watered up. Someone must've been cutting onions nearby.

"We're going to start up a new game. Didn't you hear us?"

_His voice._

__

__

Dream jumped from his seat and stared at the screen. George was right. The game had ended already. He was back on the loading screen once again, the little blobs swaying side to side. It was all blurry to him but he could still see the switching of accessories, back and forth from a cowboy hat and a monocle. That was Sapnap, for sure.

He glared at the screen. Something wasn't right.

He quickly and swiftly clicked from the game's screen and to Discord. They were talking away - Bad and Sapnap. He could see their little icons popping up with a lime ring around it as if they were talking, but where were the words? Why couldn't he hear them? He looked at his bar and saw he wasn't on deafened or mute. He had been pulled into a different call. In the looming darkness of his own self-pity, he surrounded himself in, somehow he missed George's sneaky actions and the beeps.

"Why are we in a different call, George?" His voice didn't mean to sound so vulnerable. It wasn't his intention, just something he couldn't control. He felt vulnerable - as if his mask had been shot and was now crumbling away, revealing the ugliest of truths. His insecurities, his secrets, everything. They were spilling away like a waterfall. Like blood.

He heard George's sigh cackle in his ears. The reality that they were thousands of miles away from one another hit him like an arrow straight to the heart. He could feel the pulsing begin to slow. The liquid pumping in his veins stood still, turning to a murky black before dying out. His lungs deflated with air and his eyelids carefully covered his eyes.

He could tell he did something wrong. A slight tinge in his voice or the quietest of breathes could exploit his very thoughts. George was easy to read, much like a book. In the years' Dream had known him, he learnt every detail about his friend; from the smallest of things like his eye colour (he had complete heterochromia in both his eyes and, funny enough, he was also colourblind,) to largest. For example, his entire family tree that George knew of or places he wanted to live when he grew up. If he could, Dream would write an entire novel all about George's thoughts and ideas, goals and aspirations. He wasn't the only one, though. Dream did that with all of his friends - Bad, Sapnap, Tommy, etc. He just found more interest in the colour blinded boy than most people.

The howling outside stifled his breath. It was growing heavier by the second. Clumps of snow stuck to his window in fear and the sky had turned to an ominous colour. The palm trees held up with all their might as the wind tried to pull them down. Decorations did not have that amount of strength and lost the battle, being thrown about like a ragdoll across the land and landing in other neighbours' gardens. Luckily, Dream didn't bother hanging any this year.

He could hear the storm outside echoing in the call. The gusts of wind smashed together and hissed in their ears. The two knew how bad Florida could get, with the overwhelming anxiety of a natural disaster happening at any point, no matter the weather. They just never realised a storm this bad could happen at such a jolly, propaganda, cult rising time like this one. Only a week until Christmas. Nothing bad happens then. Nothing so devilishly torturing can happen only a week before the 25th. And yet a storm outside of his door was threatening to blow everyone's hard work all over the place. It was already doing so.

"I just thought it'd be nice to chat." His sweet voice let out the most worried undertone Dream ever heard, and it made his heart shatter, "You've been acting really weird lately, that's all."

"Oh, sorry, I'm just tired." He smiled through his pain as if a facecam was pointed at his face and showing the whole world his poor lack of hygiene.

He knew George didn't believe him. The silence that soon followed his untruthful words blew in his face like smoke, clouding his lungs in the ash and his tongue tasted the fire. How could he ever believe _him?_ Just a useless corpse on the snowy hill frozen in place after a hiking trip went wrong.

He breathed in, the smoker clogging his throat and pulling at his adam's apple. He coughed violently into the crook of his arm, his shallow breaths escaping the fog weakly from his firey and chapped lips. They circled each other in a venomous pattern, slithering around like snakes. It flew up from his mouth and blinded his vision, the corners pricking with dew droplets. He felt like he was suffocating. He was being drowned out by his own chest.

He was trapped in an endless cycle of pain, coughing his guts up like it would relieve the pain but only ended up with a sore throat, croaky voice and dried tear streaks down his face. He wouldn't be surprised if blood started pouring from his mouth and stained his clothes beyond repair. The metallic taste of iron coursed his flaming tongue.

With as much power as he mustered up in his chipped body, he steadied his breathing thoughtfully and the coughing stopped. For now. The aching feeling in his lungs vanished, the ash and the flames and the snake smoke soon withering away like his heart. He felt at ease as the hellfire died down in his organs and his regular boring respiration cycle began again.

On the other end, George awaited peacefully, listening to his friend's dying breath. Dream felt the heaviness crush his ribs as the call carried on. A waving awkwardness enlaced itself with the howling of the storm as if tying their two fates together in a bond. He couldn't hear George over the downpour but knew he was waiting.

Just like him, George waited.

"Tired of what?" His voice sputtered out. Dream could just make out what he was saying before his mouth began to move like a separate entity.

His voice was heavy and full of truth. For once, he purposely pulled away from the mask, the wall, the barrier. For only a moment. For a singular second, the fake ego slipped from his grasp and showed the ugliness of what was there before their naked eyes. The mask painted in a bleached paint of lies and plastered on with a smile - it fell.

"Everything...?"

Dream hated cliches. He hated everything about it. It always felt forced to him - that the writers gave up on the actual plot and decided to pull a not-so-very-twisty twist. It wasn't just in movies, however. He hated the cliches of life. The extra little splices of drama life thought are the best way to successfully put the cherry on top of the ice cream stack of fuckery. So, when the words escaped his distasteful lips, he felt a twist in his chest, a cringe in the corners of his mouth.

He bit his lip, pulled the mask back from over his discoloured face, and continued his shroud of lies.

The call froze. He could hear George's breath stop as if he had seen a ghost. Maybe he should've kept his mouth shut.

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Yeah! 
> 
> I decided to post this because it's taken me so long to actually write this (about a month) and I thought it would be nice to post this before it gets way too long. I mean, this has about 6 thousand words already and we're only in the beginning so, yep!
> 
> I honestly don't think this will blow up since this is very half-assed and it's not at all properly developed (also my writing sucks,) but I don't care!
> 
> If you're one of the very few people who have read this, well done! I hope I haven't bored you and I hope you stick around for the next few chapters because there might be a few :D
> 
> Have a lovely day!! <3


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